Bardess of Rhulon Page 8

  Skullcap strolled over to them, tossing a cloth wrapped piece of bread and cheese to Meg. He had changed into the official uniform of the rangers. His white tunic and brown vest were pristine and green cloak floated behind him like wings, Owena the crow perched on his shoulder. He was still intimidating to look at, but she knew his heart was good.

  “Any callous criminals in your home village?” Meg asked.

  Rose shook her head. “The biggest criminal act in my village of Stone Haven was a rather elusive bread thief who turned out to be a ten-year-old boy.”

  “Sounds like a wonderfully quiet place,” Meg said, breaking off some cheese and bread and handing it to Rose.

  Rose accepted it gratefully and munched hungrily, fortified by the safety of the ranger’s presence and real food. “It was, when my mother wasn’t harping at me. But what you do must be very hard, yet is so noble. How long have you been a ranger?”

  “About ten years,” Meg replied.

  Rose studied Meg and added, “You never really struck me as a dairy maid.”

  “Thank the Gods!” Meg replied.

  “But you saved me from a dreadful fate and for that I thank you with my whole heart,” Rose said solemnly. “I don’t want to think about what grim fate awaited me if you had not been so brave. Thanks for protecting me.”

  Skullcap bit into his wedge of cheese and added, “You’re a very lucky maid, little Rose. I’m glad we got you rescued before anything worse happened to you or these other poor women. They’re free again and it’s the slavers that are in chains. That’s a good day for a ranger.”

  Meg surveyed the area. “Skullcap, let’s use their extra wagons to carry the women back to the city. Then we can start contacting their families and get their testimony. Make sure everyone is safe. We leave at dawn. I want a ranger in each wagon with the women to make sure they’re not suffering any ill effects from the drugged food.”

  “I’ll arrange that. What about Rebec and Fendrel’s bodies?” Skullcap asked.

  Meg’s expression was chilling. “Tie them to the back of one of the wagons and drag them back to the ranger station with a hangman’s noose around their necks. Then the city watch will swing them from the walls as a warning to those who violate the Emperor’s Law until crows do their work. I don’t like slavers or men who abuse women. Rebec did bothand much worse. May his black soul burn in hell for eternity.”

  “I think that’s a certainty, Meg,” Skullcap agreed.

  Albin whimpered, and Skullcap tugged impatiently at his rope. “Silence, you dog. Save your blubbering for the judge.”

  Rose sat down, but despite her exhaustion, amid the bustling rangers securing the prisoners and arranging the wagons, she could not rest. She missed her lute. She had no idea where she had lost it back there or how to find the spot where they took her. The loss of her lute did bring tears, which she brushed away.

  “Let’s get moving,” Meg ordered and crooked her finger to summon her. “Rose, you ride with me. You can’t travel alone. Not anymore,” she added for emphasis.

  Rose was grateful for any aid after what she had been through. She followed Meg to the giant horse that snorted at her presence and glared down at her with disdain.

  “I don’t think she likes me,” Rose gulped.

  Meg lifted Rose up onto the saddle of her horse and then mounted behind her.

  “You’re just not acquainted with her. Don’t be afraid. Fayre’s a good horse, aren’t you, girl,” she said, patting her neck affectionately.

  Rose blanched at being astride the massive creature. Strange this horse made her so fearful after all she had been through, but she was only familiar with the smaller dwarf ponies of her home. She was a good rider, though her mother did not approve of her riding.

  She decided after all she had survived; the horse was not really a big threat—as long as she didn’t look down.

  “Where are we going?” Rose asked, nervously holding on to the pommel of the saddle and praying she would not fall to her doom.

  “White Thorn,” Meg replied.

  Elated that she would have protection to the city she had chosen for so long was more than she could ever wish for. Even so, being atop this giant horse was both daunting and she continued to look up at the sky.

  “She seems like a sweet horse, but it’s just so high up from the earth,” Rose gulped.

  “You’re in Tirangel now,” Meg grinned, “the land of the tall folk. A lot of things will be out of your reach.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that,” Rose replied dryly.

  * * *

  Darius observed the sea gulls fly across the ocean with graceful abandon. He envied their careless freedom. The clear day brimmed with sunshine and the sea and sky were a vivid crystal blue. It was a sad day though, his last day here. He inhaled deeply, relishing the brisk sea air and the eternal serenity of the monastery. His life would never be calm again.

  Your brother is dead, Your Highness.

  Those terrible words changed his life forever. The royal messenger had been brief with this tragic news. His brother fell from a horse during an afternoon ride, as he had been informed by the contrite messenger who knelt before him yesterday. His neck was broken and he died instantly. All of White Thorn was in mourning. His parents commanded his immediate return home.

  Darius could not imagine his older brother gone. Prince Justin, heir to the great Tirangel Empire.

  He was the Crown Prince now. That did not fill him with joy.

  He imagined his stoic father not revealing a flicker of emotion when informed of Justin’s death. His poor mother would have not shed a tear in public, but would have retreated to her private chambers to weep alone. Darius had been stunned by the tragic news. He had loved his brother, even though they had little in common. His older brother was destined for many great things. Such a premature death at the peak of his youth was never considered or even imagined. Justin had been an expert horseman who learned how to ride before he could walk. How could Karta be so cruel in choosing such a fate for his dashing brother?

  Darius had spent his life being the necessary but often useless second Prince. He never resented it—he relished it because it gave him a small bay of liberty to live his life. His brother Justin was bound for the austere crown of Tirangel. Darius was happy to remain in the background of his brother’s glory. Darius was bound for the church or the military, a life which would have afforded him small but welcome freedom from responsibility.

  Brother Osbert knocked on the door and entered, poking his tonsured head inside. “Your Highness, the ship has arrived.”

  “Thank you, Brother.”

  “They also delivered a letter for you, Your Highness.”

  “Just leave it.”

  Osbert put the letter on the table.

  “We will miss you, Darius,” Osbert said softly.

  “And I you,” Darius replied. “When do I leave?”

  “Tomorrow at sunrise.”

  “Thank you, Brother.”

  Osbert quietly departed, leaving Darius to ponder his future. Darius did not want to leave this small seaside monastery. He would miss all the monks, especially pudgy, gentle Osbert. Darius loved it here. Home was a different story.”

  Darius pulled himself away from the sea to open the letter. To his surprise and joy, it was not from his stern father, Emperor Aristide. The wax seal bore the royal insignia of the House of Ironheart.

  Darius opened the letter and read it. His old friend, Prince Culain Ironheart, was coming to White Thorn as the new Ambassador. Culain wrote that he looked forward to seeing his oldest friend and sent heartfelt condolences for the loss of his brother, Prince Justin. From Culain, Darius could believe those words. The Dwarven Prince had been a friend and regular visitor to White Thorn for years, in various diplomatic positions for his father, King Grimkel. He envied Culain, who had so many brothers and sisters; he never had to worry about being an heir.

  Darius had always been the mouse prin
ce. Now he must shine. How? He was not hard enough to be an Emperor. Darius recently learned from his father’s dispatches, that he also inherited the responsibility of a future bride, Princess Lilias Rhodan. Along with his brother’s rank as heir, Darius also inherited his royal fiancé.

  “How can I worry about being a future Emperor and a husband?” Darius asked sharply to the flying seagulls. “I’m not even tall,” Darius uttered. He had one secret jealousy—his brother’s six-foot height and muscular build. Darius was barely five foot six inches tall, and physically not very impressive.

  Freedom was something he had never known except here in the monastery. As prince, he was bound with a golden rope. Dressed in velvets and silks, he dined from silver plates and drank from jeweled cups. Here at the monastery by the sea, he could run barefoot on the beach and fish with the monks for his supper. He was just Darius.

  Now you are the only Prince.

  Darius watched the sea birds on their graceful flight, wishing he could be as free. Suddenly the sky darkened with rain clouds and the omen unsettled Darius. It only fortified the gloom in his heart.

  Chapter Seven

  After her liberation, they journeyed to the ranger house that was just a few miles outside White Thorn’s city gates. There was a great cheer for Meg and her team when they arrived with the prisoners and the freed women. It was exciting to see the green-cloaked rangers welcoming them back.

  Less exciting was the cramped, stuffy office illuminated by low-burning candles, Rose gave a detailed testimony to a stern and dour-faced Captain Jesper Nerlis. Skullcap and Meg were with her, partly to verify her story as official witnesses and partly to give moral support. At times she felt like it was a great adventure story, and found herself resorting to colorful words and expressions until Captain Nerlis’ sharp look forced her to state only the plain, bare facts.

  Skullcap brought her a tin of hot coffee and she welcomed the sustenance, though the coffee was bitter. It helped keep her awake as she went over every detail. Captain Nerlis made copious notes as she spoke and his clipped manner was more infused with his pile of papers on his desk than Rose’s predicament.

  He was, however, concerned about a dwarf maiden traveling alone. Captain Nerlis raised a brow, arranging his notes with meticulous care. “Mistress Greenleaf, have you committed any crimes in your home country that would warrant such flight from Rhulon without proper escort? It’s rare for a woman of your race to be without the protection of your family.”

  Rose sighed and wearily replied, “If fleeing an unwanted, arranged marriage to a boorish young man is a crime, then I confess. I am guilty, Captain. What is my punishment?”

  Skullcap guffawed and Meg covered her grin, but Captain Nerlis did not crack a smile.

  So much for humor.

  He handed Rose her statement. “Do you know how to read and write, Miss Greenleaf?” Captain Nerlis inquired.

  “Oh yes, Captain Nerlis, I can read and speak five languages.”

  “Excellent. Please read that report carefully and sign your name,” he instructed, offering her a stylus. “It’s a written statement of what you told me, minus the dramatic embellishments, and will be used during the trial as evidence. You also pledge to be in court as a witness.”

  Rose read it quickly, astonished by his impeccably perfect handwriting. She signed the document and Meg and Skullcap also signed as witnesses. Captain Nerlis then signed his name and affixed the official ranger seal, which she noticed used green wax and the image of a large oak tree.

  “That’s a lovely seal,” Rose commented.

  “I’m pleased you approve, Miss Greenleaf,” Nerlis remarked without glancing at her. “The trial will in a few weeks. The courts are backlogged, as usual. You’ll receive an official summons and an escort to the trial. Until then, you are required to remain in the city of White Thorn. After the trial is concluded, you’re free to go anywhere.”

  “Yes, thank you, Captain.” Rose pondered a moment, and asked, “May I seek work while I wait so I may support myself?”

  “Yes, if that is your desire. What is your trade? Do you sew or cook?”

  Rose laughed but Captain Nerlis’ expression did not reflect her lighthearted response, but remained grim as gravestone. “Sorry, Captain. I’m a Bard. I sing for my supper, literally!”

  “That explains your rather lively and flamboyant testimonial. Good luck, Mistress Greenleaf,” Captain Nerlis replied and waved them all away. “I’ve other duties to attend to and more witness to interview now that the other women are finally rousing from their drugged state. I apologize for your ordeal but take heart—justice will be done. For your cooperation and since you are newly arrived to our city, we will pay for your lodgings at an inn until the trial, but after that you are on your own. Are you prepared for that, Miss Greenleaf?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Rose answered soberly.

  “Good. Commander Sparrow will escort you to one of our approved inns for your stay since you are new to our city. Good day.” He stacked his papers and neatly placed them to his right, looked at Meg and Skullcap and allowed a slight grin to crack his starched expression. “Your report states Rebec the Black was killed during the operation?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Meg answered.

  “I’ll send your condolences to the hangman,” Captain Nerlis commented dryly. “I commend your fine investigative work, Commander. The Emperor will be pleased.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Meg saluted.

  After a quick goodbye to Skullcap and Owena, who allowed Rose to stroke her head, Rose and Meg left for the city on Fayre.

  “Where are we going?” Rose asked.

  “I have friends who own a tavern called the Red Boar near the docks. It’s one of our approved inns where you can stay.”

  Inside the city gates, Rose glimpsed White Thorn for the first time. It was like a mythological beast come to life, and its mysteries both exhilarated and frightened her. She blamed her fear on her exhaustion. She knew she had to shake it off if she planned to be an adventuress.

  * * *

  Rose waited on bench in the hall just outside the taproom of the Red Boar. Her feet dangled because it was so high, being been designed for tall folk. She imagined her mother’s reaction to Rose being inside an actual tavern.

  A young girl in rough tavern house like a common doxy! My reputation as a mother will be ruined forever.

  Fortunately, this was just one of many things Rose’s mother would remain oblivious about. Memories of home pricked her conscience. She missed her cousin, Pea and her teacher, Belenus. She banished her father’s image from her mind. Their breach was never mended. Her mother would always be a trial, but her father had been her rock until he abandoned her to a forced marriage. Troubled by her past, Rose leaned over and resumed eavesdropping as Meg argued on her behalf with the stout innkeepers, Digby and Becky Crofton, for a job and place to stay.

  “But I don’t need no new barmaid!” Digby protested.

  “You always need help,” Meg retorted. “Becky agrees with me.”

  Despite the robust verbal exchange, Rose fought from falling into a stupor because of her exhaustion.

  Now, Rose waited in the Red Boar Tavern for judgment again. This time from the couple who owned the inn.

  “Rangers are always welcome in my house,” Digby replied boisterously, greeting Meg with a big hug. “What have we here, Meg?” he asked, looking down in Rose’s direction. “Is that a child?”

  “No Digby, she’s not a child. She’s from Rhulon. Her name is Rose Greenleaf. If you have room, the ranger house will pay for her stay until the trial.”

  “Fine, we have the room. So you captured those slavers at last?” Becky asked.

  “Indeed we did. Rebec is dead and his followers are in prison awaiting trial. Rose was one of the young women we rescued.”

  “That poor thing,” Becky cooed.

  “So she’s one of them little folk from up north, eh?” Digby sniffed, squinting at Rose.

/>   Becky, his wife, slapped her dish towel across his head. “Manners, Digby. Miss Rose is our guest.”

  “And I have a favor to ask as well,” Meg whispered. Let’s go inside and talk.” She knelt down and whispered to Rose, “Just wait here for a minute.”

  So, Rose waited alone in the hall while Meg spoke on her behalf to the older couple. She folded her hands demurely, outwardly examining the earthy ambiance of the Red Boar tavern. She had nothing else to do. Huge nets with shells decorated the walls, giving it all the touches a sailor would appreciate. Tables and chairs were scattered in the taproom. Patrons sat, drinking spirits at the tables, and a few glanced at Rose with curious eyes. She forced herself to ignore them. Her ears burned with curiosity, cocked listening to Meg discuss with Digby and Becky Crofton, the inn’s proprietors, her fate. Frustrated, she slid off the bench and moved closer. She watched them from the doorway to see what her fate would be.

  Digby was short for a tall folk man, with a portly belly. Meg towered over Digby as he sweated in the darkened taproom. Digby wiped his moist face with the large blue kerchief he tucked into his brown vest pocket. His nose was porous and bulbous; his head mostly bald and what little hair he possessed around his ears curled and grey. His grey linen shirt and trousers looked worn, yet he possessed a fine silver pocket watch with a velvet fob in his vest pocket.

  Becky Crofton, chubby and florid as her husband, carried a tray of mugs to a table for them. Her tightly-laced red bodice strained against her magnificent girth and her brown hair was twisted into a haphazard bun, strands escaping the hairpins. When Becky smiled, a few teeth were missing—but it was genuine and full of warmth. Becky’s kind hazel eyes glistened as Meg explained Rose’s predicament.

  Digby wiped his furrowed brow and poured cider into the mugs for them all. “I’m sorry, Meg, but I can’t afford to be giving charity to every stray cat that flicks it tail my way. Bad for business, you know.”

  “Surely, you can let her work for her keep. The ranger house will pay for her stay until the trial, but she needs a safe shelter after that,” Meg begged.

  “I don’t like strays,” Digby said mulishly.